


overlay

by taonsils (mirokkuma)



Series: tattoo artist au [4]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: M/M, Trans Character, tattoo artist au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2014-09-12
Packaged: 2018-02-17 01:34:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2292056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirokkuma/pseuds/taonsils
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The worst kinds of customer are the ones who come in with no references, no suggestions and no idea where they want the design. Park Chanyeol is the second worst kind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	overlay

**Author's Note:**

> just going to use this as the tag line on this 'verse now: Sehun is trans. Myeon is asexual and also the worst ever. Tao is made of glitter. Taohun are (myeon approved) platonic cuddlebuddies.  
> Apologies that this part is a little choppy. It was unplanned, I've just been lurking in this 'verse to avoid responsibilities (ﾉ´д｀)

The worst kinds of customer are the ones who come in with no references, no suggestions and no idea where they want the design. Park Chanyeol is the second worst kind.  
  
Jongdae's desk has four sheets of paper spread over it, none of which aren't curving back into the fold lines across them and all of which bear at least two images. The fifth is in Jongdae's hand, close to his face as he tries to decipher Chanyeol's handwriting.  
  
"And how were you thinking we could incorporate all of these things?" Jongdae asks as he types with one finger. "There's a lot of.. elements here, had you thought of having a consistent colour scheme running through?"  
  
Chanyeol blinks his big eyes at Jongdae, teeth on display as he considers that for all of half a second. He has his fingers clawed over the edge of the counter, on his toes to lean and Jongdae at least feels like he's sincere in his attention. "No? Should I? I like them all as they are."  
  
Jongdae is a polite man, so he silently leaves Chanyeol for Zitao to entertain as he scrolls through image searches. Zitao tells Chanyeol to join them behind the counter so he can better see what Jongdae is doing, and the chaos of the design quickly worsens behind Jongdae's back as Zitao tries to explain to Chanyeol how colour theory works. Zitao has a. not yet passed Jongdae's appraisal in colour theory, and b. not yet memorised a lot of the terms. Chanyeol claims he understands some Chinese, but Jongdae comes to the conclusion that he may be overestimating himself the sixth time he hears [ _nánkàn_](http://www.mdbg.net/chindict/chindict.php?page=worddict&wdrst=0&wdqb=nankan) in Zitao's progressively breathier raised tone.  
  
"I really think you're going to have to compromise on this design," Jongdae says over his shoulder after successfully discovering what shade of orange the flower Chanyeol had misspelled is. Bats his eyelashes when he finds Chanyeol with his large hands raised and Zitao frantically writing across his palm with a finger.  
  
"But I really love all of it." Chanyeol loses interest in whatever word Zitao has been trying to express to him, dropping his hands and stepping past Zitao to lean over Jongdae and look at the screen, at the spray of orange. "I can't. No way, I thought the whole thing up so carefully, it all needs to be there."  
  
Zitao makes some entirely unprofessional faces behind his back. Jongdae looks grim beneath Chanyeol's shoulder. Jongdae mostly agreed to Junmyeon's pestering about letting Zitao work for him so he could delegate all of the birth dates and names and lyric quotes in that goddamn italic font to someone else and spend his time on the real art, so he probably shouldn't despair as often as he does. (He partially agreed just to get Junmyeon to  _stop_. Jongdae despairs a lot.)  
  
"And exactly how big do you want this tattoo to be?"  
  
"Oh, well. Actually." Chanyeol straightens up, and he's already got his warm looking green sweater raised over his ribs by the time Jongdae has turned in his chair. "It's," he continues, muffled, and Zitao backs away.  
  
When the sweater pops over his head entirely Zitao glances over at Sehun, sitting at Zitao's station with her legs folded and a sketchbook balanced on her knee. Her pens are beside her on the desk, hands empty. ' _Stop staring_ ', he mouths to her, ' _oh my god, Sehun._ '  
  
Sehun smiles with her tongue pressed behind her teeth.  
  
"So it's a cover up?" Jongdae completes the thought, drawing Zitao's attention away from Sehun not doing her work and back to Chanyeol. He still has his arms in the sweater, raised above his head to give them a clear view of the lines of script running skewed down his side. The stretch makes his jeans sit low, the neon band of his underwear visible enough for Zitao to squint in disapproval at why anyone would wear highlighter yellow.  
  
"Yeah, I need the writing covering, so that's why I chose a big design cause it's really long and stuff," Chanyeol says in enthusiastic support of his clutter of references, and turns with jittery legs when Jongdae pensively asks him to. Sehun's glitter-lined eyes flick up from below his belt just in time. "Oh. Hi. Do you work here too?" Chanyeol beams at Sehun when he ends up facing her. His eye twitches as Jongdae's fingers run over the curve or his waist, and it wasn't a wink but Zitao silently squawks behind his shoulder at Sehun looking as charmed as if it had been.  
  
"I just help out and do some art," she says sweetly, smoothing a hand through her hair, and if Chanyeol notices her line of vision darting away from his eyes it doesn't stop him from smiling.  
  
Zitao shoots her an outraged look as soon as Chanyeol has turned his attention back to Jongdae, but her eyes are shaded by her thick lashes again. Definitely too low.  
  
"So it'll be ok to cover?" Chanyeol twists to see between his arms and watch over Jongdae's inspection of his side. "I mean I had this done a few years ago at, uh, before this place was open. I heard good things, I hoped you'd be able to help."  
  
"Yeah, yeah," Jongdae says distractedly, fingers spread over Chanyeol's hip. The lettering is so broad and scarred. "If we can angle it so the blue and black cover the text it should be ok. I don't think you can expect a 100% cover when it's so spread out, but we can definitely make it so it's not noticeable."  
  
"Awesome." Chanyeol performs something of a happy wiggle, arms still raised, jeans still low. Zitao sees best to not look over at Sehun.  
  
Chanyeol's sweater isn't reunited with his body until he's booking in, after a lot of measuring, note taking and Jongdae drawing on paper smoothed over his side. The press of pen through the sheets made Chanyeol's knees jog.  
  
"It'll take a while to draw up, so I'll text you in a week or so if you want to come in and look or I can send you a photo or.. Whichever works best for you."  
  
"A photo would be ok, I know it's going to look really good already." Chanyeol folds his hands in front of himself as he leans to look at the appointment cards Jongdae is filling in for him. "Nice skull," he rumbles beside Jongdae's shoulder, but Jongdae has three above his collar alone. They're all nice, though, if he does say so himself, so Jongdae nods and smiles.  
  
  
"Who fucking did that on him," Jongdae snaps his book shut and throws it back onto his desk the moment Chanyeol's burgundy hair has disappeared from sight out the shop front. "I bet he had some shit with a machine they bought off eBay do that at home. Why do people— what do they think— for fucks sake."  
  
"Some people don't care how it looks, hyung," Zitao says softly, perched on the edge of his desk behind Sehun and staring down at her sketchbook, fingers curved over his mouth. "They just want to make the memory of whatever it is."  
  
Jongdae can be incredibly loud with little effort when his temper carries his voice; Zitao shifts back a little further onto the desk as he steps closer. "Are you defending that people do this? Working for me? You want to train professionally and just tell people it's ok t—"  
  
"Boys," Sehun interjects, soft and stern. "I need to concentrate." She doesn't look up from her work. If she did Jongdae would go into a  _my studio how dare you get out_  rant, but Sehun has learnt to read Jongdae a lot faster than Zitao did. Zitao leans over to bury against the back of her hair, and Jongdae gives a despairing glance to the drawer his single permitted pack of cigarettes is in. He's allowed one a week, and he would not stick to that if it weren't for Yixing bribing Zitao's sweet tooth to routinely check the pack and report back to him.  
  
"I'm just saying, hyung, not everyone does it because it's cheaper, it's just because they want the memory and—"  
  
"Shut  _up_ , Zitao."  
  
Sehun reaches around to pat Zitao's shoulder when he whimpers exaggeratedly at the nape of her neck. Sehun has heard the stories behind most of the ink on Zitao's body, and relatively little of it was done in a studio.  
  
  
"Hey, Jongdae." Sehun breaks away from packing up her art materials to lean over his desk when she sees him looking in his schedule book. Loose curls of lilac hair brush Jongdae's upper arm. She has her phone in hand, open on the calendar. "Tell me when the puppy is booked in."  
  
Jongdae's brows rise. "You're interested?"  
  
Sehun bristles. Immediately backs up again, steps away looking so affronted at the suggestion that Jongdae's sure her false lashes are going to tremble off. "Oh god no. Not unless you sterilised him and lent me your gloves first." Her nose scrunches, septum ring catching the light. Zitao grins and wriggles back against her, just because he's the only person who can do so unscathed.  
  
Jongdae's mouth remains open for a moment as he processes that. Maybe she's like Junmyeon, he suddenly thinks, and that would make more sense of why she sometimes sleeps in his bed with Zitao. "Either way, no," he says after licking his teeth and finding use of his mouth again, "You can come here to do your work but you're not coming here to leer at my customers."  
  
"Yeah," Zitao agrees, lips pouting as he tilts his head back onto Sehun's shoulder. Sehun huffs and pushes her arms around Zitao's waist, shoves her hands into his front pockets in some semblance of a hug. Zitao wiggles happily.  
  
Sehun grumbles. "It's not every day you get a free show," she shrugs, jogging Zitao. He whines softly and settles again, grinding the back of his head into her broad shoulder.  
  
Jongdae shrugs, too. "Kind of is if you do a job like this, but they're usually not all that much to look at. Or they're gross once you get close up."  
  
"Olly skin," Zitao says sagely.  
  
"Oily" Sehun corrects, leaning to bump her nose into Zitao's cheek, and Zitao nods with his lips pursed in a smile. "He's twitchy, it's cute. And he looked not-gross from where I was, anyway," she says thoughtfully, pleased, because that's as close as matters.  
  
  
"Text me when you're leaving tonight," Zitao calls to Sehun as she slides the dividing door shut behind herself, bag slung over her shoulder and sketchbook in hand. She didn't get many designs drawn up, but the three sketches of Chanyeol's torso-to-leg ratio will probably come in useful for something. "Umma is working late, I wanna go home with you."  
  
"I will. Bye," she says to both of them, hand raised in a wave to Jongdae. "I'll see you later," she says lower, just to Zitao, and pushes onto her toes to lean over the counter.  
  
"Bye, Sehuna," Jongdae waves belatedly at the sound of the door opening, glances away from his book and up at Zitao. Tuts and looks a little harder. "Tao, you've got a little.." Jongdae points to Zitao's cheek, then taps his own in the same spot he's gesturing to.  
  
"Oh." Zitao flushes. Spins and scuttles over to check his face in the mirror. "Oh, it's— thanks." It takes a full minute of scrubbing to get Sehun's horrifically fuchsia long-last gloss off his skin.  
  
  
  
  
Chanyeol laughs almost as much as he talks, and Chanyeol talks incessantly the whole time he's in the waiting area.  
  
"Nerves," Zitao says sympathetically under his breath to Jongdae, rubbing a hand over his back as Jongdae fills ink caps with a face like thunder. Jongdae is a people person, but Jongdae also likes enough space to hear his own thoughts. Especially when people want such ridiculously overcomplicated designs.  
  
With one of the longest lines of caps he's ever had to use just for lining ready, Jongdae hooks an arm around Zitao's shoulders and pulls him down below the counter. "Do you know how many sessions all of this is going to take?" he hisses beside Zitao's ear, and continues, "Six! Maybe more if he can't sit long enough!" before Zitao's even opened his mouth.  
  
"He's nice?" Zitao reasons cautiously.  
  
" _Nerves._ " Jongdae mouths to Zitao with an exaggerated tongue five minutes later when he's looking pleadingly at Jongdae to be ready and to get Chanyeol away from him.  
  
"You can come through now," Jongdae calls to put Zitao out of his misery, and neither of them are too surprised when Chanyeol comes through the door with his shirt half over his head.  
  
 _'he took his whole shirt off again when he only needed to lift it'_  Zitao sends to Sehun, phone under loose sheets of paper and focus vaguely over his desk.  _'hes very obedient when hes told to climb up on things :P'_  
  
"Nice, I can nap through it!" Chanyeol's feet only fit on the bed if he curves his knees in, and he does so willingly after being told to lay on his side however is most comfortable.  
  
 _'I wouldn't let him on the furniture.'_  she sends back, and Zitao spends the next minute noisily rustling papers to cover the sounds he makes at the messages that follow.  
  
Chanyeol falls surprisingly silent once the initial tension of if Jongdae can start, how the first line felt, if Chanyeol is comfortable in his current position, is out of the way.  
  
The stencils for his designs amounted to five pieces of overlapping paper, purple lines such a muddle that Zitao is amazed Jongdae can tell which is which. The four not in use are pinned to Jongdae's board, above Chanyeol's head, and it's not until the first time Jongdae sprays and wipes Chanyeol's skin that he stops staring up at them.  
  
"How is it?" Jongdae asks with his eyes on Chanyeol's ribs. He has a hand firm at his hip, over the waistband of his jeans, to lessen the movement if he hits anything sensitive and Chanyeol jolts. "Are you doing ok? Say if you need to stop at any time."  
  
"It hurts, but you probably hear that every time." Chanyeol tries to smile but his mouth just opens, doesn't stretch in the right places. "It's not actually that bad. I'll be ok, I just.. It's just weird to start."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
Jongdae isn't uninterested, but he talks to customers in much the way anyone who is unable to escape someone with a story does. Every tattoo has a purpose behind it, and occasionally Jongdae would rather that story was told to a bartender. Or a therapist (or on two occasions the authorities). Jongdae has perfected casually sympathy, remaining focused while politely concerned. Zitao is at least good at the sympathy part.  
  
"Yeah." Chanyeol's head lowers a little. Jongdae can't see his face from the angle he's at, but he doesn't really need to — cover ups are only needed for so many reasons.  
  
Jongdae wipes again, lower into Chanyeol's waist, and his leg twitches. "No worries, this should cover over pretty well."  _Because they used shitty ink_ , he doesn't say, and Chanyeol makes a vaguely pleased sound.  
  
  
"It's just, they left, and I waited for ages, but I think I need to stop now," Chanyeol says abruptly, more than half an hour into his session and after talking about little more than hair dye with Zitao and how much he loves his new job. Zitao has never seen anyone happy to be doing demonstrations on a shop floor before, but he can kind of see it working with Chanyeol. "I mean money and everything, so it was the easiest thing to put off doing, but I think once I've done this it'll be really good for me."  
  
Jongdae's jaw sets tight. Jongdae often gets lost in thought while he works, or in Zitao's music blaring from the other side of the room, or just plain doesn't give a shit and supplies sympathetic but I'm-too-focused-on-doing-my-job-to-talk-to-you sounds. Frankly a lot of their customers irritate Jongdae. Jongdae (and Zitao, gradually) is supplying a skilled profession, but the amount of people who disrespect him, his studio, (his apprentice, who is also irritating but Jongdae adores him deep down), and his marginally short patience is of constant issue to him.  
  
Chanyeol is likeable despite his volume, though, and with the harshness from his voice gone, replaced with emotion, Jongdae finds himself genuinely interested. Still pissed at the obviously home done chicken scratch down Chanyeol's side, but at least he's making amends now.  
  
"Like, everything seemed ok? They wrote that— what I have the tattoo of, for me, and I only had it done a month or something before and then they were just, like— ah,"  
  
"Like?" Zitao urges when Chanyeol pauses to squeeze his eyes shut as the needle touches close to his hipbone, no longer pretending to be organising his desk and fully facing them.  
  
"Like, gone." Chanyeol blinks furiously. Looks up at Zitao like he's still in disbelief, and Zitao slips down into a chair to scooch over and sit at eye level with him. Jongdae sighs heavily. His breath must reach Chanyeol's skin, because his stomach jolts tight.  
  
"Gone? Just gone?"  
  
Chanyeol nods. "Really just gone. I just came home and all their stuff, well, the important things, not all of it. It was gone, they were gone."  
  
"You didn't suspect anything?" Jongdae asks as he lifts away to load up on red ink, and Chanyeol, sensing the absence, turns to look at him as he shakes his head.  
  
"We'd been together a pretty long time so I think I would have noticed if anything seemed weird, but.." Chanyeol hesitates, at a loss for how else to elaborate, and they both turn at the sudden sound of Zitao sniffing.  
  
"I'm sorry," he says hurriedly when their attention focuses on him, mouth turned down, "I'm sorry that happened. I can't imagine.."  
  
"Lets.." Jongdae mentally fumbles for words as he watches Zitao furiously dabbing at the corners of his eyes with his fingertips. Zitao's mouth won't set straight, and after a second loud sniff he bows his head and makes a dash for the door. Jongdae gives Chanyeol's shoulder a gentle pat and makes to stand. "I'll give you a break for a few minutes, ok? I just need to.. sort that one out quickly."  
  
"Oh. Sure, thanks." Chanyeol looks slightly bewildered, but his side is burning with pain and a break doesn't sound bad. "Is he ok?"  
  
"I'm really sorry about that," Jongdae says as he wets paper towel to wipe Chanyeol off with. "Don't worry about him. Hold this here if it helps with the pain."  
  
"Hold—?" Chanyeol nearly falls on his front, yelping at the cold pressure as Jongdae presses the towel against his waist. Jongdae waits until he's steady with his own hand holding it in place before letting go. "H-hold this, ok. Take your time? If he needs it?"  
  
  
Jongdae only isn't yelling because Chanyeol would hear, because anyone in the street and surrounding buildings would hear. "Zitao you are so unprofessional sometimes— You can't do that to customers, you can't  _behave_  like that, Zitao— I swear if Junmyeon.." Zitao flinches; Jongdae looks off to the side. "If he knew what you were like at work some days he wouldn't be buying you treats and telling you what a good boy you are."  
  
"Don't, hyung.." Zitao had nearly stopped the tears, fingers wet, eyelashes heavy, but they blink into his eyes afresh. "I know. 'm really sorry, hyung, I tried not to, I just.. He's really nice, and I don't know what I'd do if.."  
  
Jongdae purses his lips. He doesn't stop looking furious, but he doesn't start making his usual threats on Zitao's job. Because really, he doesn't know what he'd do either. "Yeah, well. It's not like you need to worry about it with Junmyeon."  
  
Zitao shakes his head, lips still tugging downwards, and Jongdae sighs, because his anger softens far too quickly where Zitao is involved. "Like he'd stay mad with you for more than five minutes anyway. ..Look, Tao, go home if you're upset, You're not booked up for the end of today, and I don't want Chanyeol to think he's caused any kind of problem."  
  
Zitao blinks at him and his eyeliner flecks a little.  
  
"Clear up and go," Jongdae huffs, "I managed without you for years."  
  
"I can't see umma until tomorrow, though." Zitao sniffs. He's already sent him six texts in the past hour about the proceedings of their day with Sehun's puppy, about Chanyeol's story and how much Zitao loves his umma and can't bear to think about it and that was unprofessional too, and all Junmyeon's had time to send back is emoji of a panda with three hearts and a rain cloud.  
  
  
' _skype me tonight ill be with sehun not at home_ ' Zitao types between stuffing things into his bag and organising his desk. ' _youll have time right?'_  
'skype us and tell me about your day'  
'bc umma :(( i care even if i dont understand the words sometimes :('  
'youll have time to skype right i cant remember do you know how to facetime? we could do that its quicker'  
'we could say goodnight if we did that instead'  
'sorry youre busy'  
'im staying with sehun but she wont mind if we talk. youll be able to just say goodnight right?'  
  
' _Yes_ ' Junmyeon replies, and Zitao is about to throw his hands (and phone) up in despair when it buzzes again. He wails and fumbles not to drop it. ' _I'm sorry about the puppy :-( Don't be too sad though. Have a nice night with Sehun, I'll call before you sleep._ '  
  
' _dont call! i want to see you so you have to use the other one. umma ill get sehun to text you she explains better'_  
  
'Busy. Love you' Junmyeon sends, followed by more emoji. Three lipstick kisses, a panda, and a palm tree. Zitao's pretty sure he hit the last one by accident, and a giggle bubbles up through the weepiness.  
  
"Something nice?" Chanyeol asks with his head raised from the bed, glassy eyed and unaware of either the argument or that Zitao is getting an early home time thanks to him.  
  
"Umma," Zitao says distractedly as he replies, bag tucked under his arm and phone cradled between both hands.  
  
"Oh." Chanyeol frowns. Looks at Zitao's smile, at his thumbs flicking fast over the screen.  
  
Jongdae masks the snort he lets out with a cough.

  
  
Jongdae makes it home only twenty minutes late — his best this week, and finds Yixing cooking. He seems to cook more than he composes these days, which Jongdae has no complaints about unless it starts to impact on their rent payments, however questionable some of the results.  
  
"Xing, are you going to be long?" Jongdae calls as he toes off his shoes, and the front he's been giving Chanyeol all afternoon is worn thin, and it must sound in his voice because Yixing calls an apology rather than a reply as Jongdae pads down the hallway.  
  
"Can I intrude?"  
  
Yixing looks up to find Jongdae lingering near the doorway, small without his shoes and fingers restless over the leather of his bracelets.  
  
"Of course." Yixing's smile is small and warm, leaving space for the atmosphere Jongdae brings with him. "I don't think this is going to work out anyway, but it'll hopefully at least be edible, and that's.." Jongdae's shoulder bumps his, "Bad day?"  
  
"Ok day. Bad people." Jongdae noses against Yixing's neck, impatient in a way that crawls under his skin. Doesn't know what to do with his hands when the tension coursing through him makes him want to grip and squeeze. Being in love is background noise to Jongdae, and he and Yixing are on the same page in that respect. It's there, they know, just a soft undercurrent through their shared life. When it bleeds into the foreground Jongdae feels vulnerable, and Jongdae would not have ink from his throat to his fingertips if vulnerability was something he liked to share space with. "There are so many people broken by people, Xing, I just want.."  
  
Jongdae tries to turn Yixing towards him, impatient little tugs at his waist and shoulder.  
  
"Wait, wait," Yixing laughs softly, puts a hand between them. Once he's turned back from the oven, made sure everything is off and the smoke alarm isn't going to interrupt them, he lets Jongdae pull.  
  
It's mostly adrenaline on Jongdae's part that has him leading Yixing to the bedroom rather than the couch.  
  
  
On good days Yixing takes store bought painkillers rather than prescription, but his waist and knee are nearly three years past the accident and Yixing without fail does his exercises, but perhaps this is just as good as good days will get. Jongdae trusts that the pain is minimal, in periods not there at all, when Yixing tells him that, and Jongdae accepts without hesitation when he doesn't.  
  
"Look at you." Yixing smiles, laughs as Jongdae's grasping hands come to aid him with his clothing. Jongdae's are already strewn on the floor in the time it's taken him to step out of his jeans. Today was a good day, but by evening all days become dimly sore.  
  
Yixing hesitates with his hand at the nightstand drawer. "Should I..?" and it's all stalling time, taking too long. Jongdae shakes his head and reaches out.  
  
"No, no you don't need to bring that.  
Unless you wanted to," Jongdae says as an afterthought, and Yixing laughs, because Jongdae already has him half on the bed and his hold is so, so tight.  
  
"Are you sure you're all right?" Yixing asks after Jongdae has relinquished his grip enough to settle back, because his mouth is tight, his gaze strained and flickering. Lowers himself down so slowly because it distributes the pain, lets him know where to rest the weight. Jongdae knows this, and he still lets out a hiss between his teeth at how achingly satisfying the gradual closeness is.  
  
Jongdae is small and wiry under Yixing. Strong, lean arms around him and solid muscle beneath. He hurts against Yixing a little, no matter how many meals Yixing ensures he doesn't skip.  
  
"I'm not," Jongdae says with his teeth blunt around Yixing's jaw, "But I can't..", against his neck, buries his face there. "But it'll pass."  
  
  
"Today's been weird," Jongdae mumbles into Yixing's shoulder. His hair is barely damp, and Yixing's skin is air chilled against his lips. "I hope I didn't drag you away from your work."  
  
Maybe if they had done something more raucous then Jongdae's earlier urgency would feel a little more justified and a little less embarrassing than it does right now, that the frantic scrabbling need for closeness amounted to something slow, gentle and all round far too cuddly. Jongdae has smugly heard there's things to be said of an artist's hands, but Yixing is a pianist and Jongdae would willingly pass the onus over to musicians.  
  
Yixing rocks his head from side to side, then turns to rest his cheek against Jongdae's hair. "No, I was done for the day. I don't know what'll happen to what I was cooking, but it tasted pretty awful before you got home anyway."  
  
"I like your experiments," Jongdae says, eyes unfocused at the ink on Yixing's shoulder. He'll try pretty much anything if Yixing makes it specially for him, and in this moment it's not a lie, because Jongdae likes every single thing about.. Well, not  _every_  single thing, but he's sure he has enough unloveable habits of his own. Jongdae usually has a thicker skin for both customers with a sad story and Zitao's easy tears, and Yixing's arm around him squeezes, because he's trying to bury further under his shoulder.  
  
"If you don't feel like talking," Yixing starts, and Jongdae immediately shakes his head, "Then we could try it. We're still in good time to order out."  
  
"Ugh," Jongdae says, because now they need to shower and redress and he should probably text Zitao to make sure he hasn't cried himself and Sehun a migraine, and this all feels like a lot of effort. When he sits up Yixing follows, slower, and squeezes his eyes shut at the pull in his side. Jongdae has a hand in his hair trying to smooth it into something a little tamer, and the other quickly moves to Yixing's back.  
  
Jongdae tuts. Yixing wouldn't push him to talk, but not because he doesn't want to know. "Something made me really sad earlier, and I just.. I don't like being sad." And by that Jongdae means he doesn't process it well, and Yixing knows. "Tao cried," he adds, because at least he didn't.  
  
Jongdae's skin is mostly blues, reds, newer pieces soft shades of greying black, and Yixing's hand is stark amongst the lettering spanning Jongdae's chest, cold pressure over his sternum.  
  
"I hope you're not about to say something lame, putting your hand there. Very ominous." Jongdae pouts to the maximum level of severity his lipring allows.  
  
Yixing shakes his head. "You're not good at being sad," he confirms, and Jongdae agrees with a tilt of his head. "At all. But I still love you the same when you are," he adds, can't quite bite back his smile enough, and Jongdae clasps Yixing's hand with his inky fingers before letting out a long whine of complaint.


End file.
